




]'il5 



PS 3549 
.175 W5 
1915 
Copy 1 



Unler Reveries 

Otber 
of 



BY 
W. A. ZIMMERMAN 



Winter Reveries 

anb Ot^er ^Its of Verse 



Copyright 1915 by W. A. Zimmerman 



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'G)a,A39340e 

JAN 25 1915 '.., 



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(Tonlents 



At Christmas Time 5 

After the Holidays 9 

The Dear Old Moon ^0 

The Christmas Story—" Winter Reveries " 13 

An Ode to the Great American Desert 19 

Keep A -gripping 20 

A "Back East" Memory 21 

Soliloquies of "Nin-nin Tat" 22 

When You Have Grown Up I'll Miss You 24 

Congratulations 25 

There's a Nation Calling 26 

Babies 27 

Just for My Sweetheart 30 

There's a Story, My Friend 31 

Autumn Winds 32 

Word Picture 33 

Cupid's Message 34 

Why I Love Her 39 

Spooks 42 

It Broke the Baby's Heart 44 

The Bliss of a Kiss 45 

A Toast 46 

How Do You Treat Your Mother ? 47 

Contrast 48 

Why I Am Single 49 

Good News 52 

The Little Thief, Dan Cupid 53 

Blue Eyes, Cease Your Peeping 54 

Choose Your Beacon Light 56 

The Battle Call 57 

Felicitation 58 

The Autumn Rain Drops 59 

Ephriam's 'Possum Supper 60 




TJusl a JForcwor6 

HE writer of the few bits of verse con- 
tained herein does not, in presenting this 
collection to the cold, cold world, fear 
in the least for his literary or poetic repu- 
tation, for he has none; nor does he fear 
unfavorable criticism from the friends 
whom he favors (?) with a copy gratis, 
for they will be too well bred to criticise a well 
intentioned gift, even a hand made one by an ama- 
ture. No one will be so foolish as to buy a copy — 
if perchance it be so, they would have already spent 
their money, so there would be no use to complain. 
If any one should borrow or steal a copy they would 
not dare to utter a sound for fear of being found 
out — hence the writer feels perfectly safe and is 
willing to take a chance. So with the sincere hope 
that some of the little thoughts herein expressed 
that have given him a little pleasure or amusement 
in their formulation, and any expression that may 
please or amuse you for a brief moment in this hus- 
tling, bustling, busy old world of ours, or bring back 
to the reader some of the fond memories on which 
we sometimes love to dwell in the pause in our mad 
flight. 

If you should not care to have this among your 
other "Classics," please notify the author and 
postage will be cheerfully forwarded for its return 
trip home. 

The writer has endeavored to slip in enough "Gems" 
with the Cnristmas spirit in them to make the reader 
a little more charitable than usual, and he does 
hereby and hereon most respectfully dedicate them 
all to those dear to him, who have furnished him 
with the little inspirations that have lead to their 
existence. So please, dear reader, accept them in 
the spirit in which the author intended that they 
should be; most of them are harmless. If any 
of them should please you a little bit, the author 
is human and might be tempted to give you others, 
if vou will tell him so. THE AUTHOR. 




T Christmas Time we give gifts to our loved 

ones and friends. It is an old custom and 

a good one. Somewhere buried in the 

breast of every one of us are feelings and 

emotions of kindness and love for others. 

It is well to express that at least once a 

year. 

At Christmas time we look after the poor and 

needy and seek to make their lives happy. That 

is good, for it does us good to do good to others. 

At Christmas time we gather in family reunions. 

Happy is that household where there is no vacant 

chair. Our children and our children's children come 

with laughter and hands laden with gifts. It is gooa 

to have it so. 

At Christmas time we are brought in touch with 
the spirit which would prevail all the year if we 
really believed in Him in whose honor we celebrate 
Christmas. If the Christmas spirit could prevail 
all of the time poverty would be abolished, class 
strife would end, war would cease and hardest of 
all maybe, sectarian contention and bigotry would 
cease and the men who divide good people into 
factions and emphasize denominational and credal 
differences would be ranked with the Pharasees, who- 
ever proclaim the *T am holier than thou" doctrine; 
and the supreme test of fellowship in the bonds of 
the gospel would be the love which sacrifices for 
the good of others, even such loves as Christ had. 

(Selected.) 



( Walt Mason in the Times) 

Am I the same good-natured jay who beamed so 
much on Christmas Day? Who said, with fervor in 
my cry: "The Cnristmas spirit should not die?" Am 
I the same old gun who smiled on every grown-up, 
every child, and radiated peace on earth, good will 
to men, and sterling worth? I have to wonder when 
I note that I'm as surly as a goat. I come nome from 
tne beastly grind with business cares upon my mind; 
I have a dark and brooding brow, and wear my 
grudge out on the frau. I growl and snort and fuss 
around because my slippers can't be found; I cuss 
because the dinner's late, because the ciAua^ers choke 
the grate, because the kids, with Christmas toys, 
are kicking up a beastly noise. And when I'm done 
with snorts and sneers I have the whole blamed 
bunch in tears. And wnen to roost I go at last, and 
study o'er the recent past, I wonder if I am the same 
old scout who played the Christmas game, with 
beaming smile and beck and nod, with softened heart 
and loosened wad. The fairies must have come along 
when I wound up my Christmas song, and then, to 
their and my disgrace, put some cheap faker in my 
place. 



I5be ^car 015 5tloon 

I. 

The dear old moon is smiling, love, 

As it has for many a year. 
It watches o'er the dear old Earth, 

O'er friends and memories dear. 
She sails her course and falters not 

On her path up in the si^y 
And brings fond memories back, dear 

Memories sweet to you and I, 
And as I gaze up to her face. 

So full and round and true, 
My thoughts go back into the past 

To the time I first met you. 

II. 
(How well do I remember dear I 

It seems 'twere only yesterday 
Our first sweet stroll togetner — 

How she smiled and seemed to say: 
"God bless you in your new found joy 

And guide you on your way; 
I'll be your friend by night time 

As the Sun shall be by day." 
She's kept her promise true, dear, 

Ne'er failed her time to shine 
Upon our happy trysting place. 

To bless your life and mine. 

III. 
Our wedding bens rang clearer 

As her silvery moonbeams fell 
And caressed, with loving tenderness. 

The form I loved so well; 
I oft, have seen that picture. 



And trust that long I may 
For happiness is sweet indeed 

Whene'er it comes that way: — 
'Tis true the clouds o'ercast at times. 

And hide her from our view. 
But she undaunted still snines on 

As we in life should do. 

IV. 
Again I see her silvery rays 

— It's joy to me, and so I love her — 
As they fall across the window-sill 

On the new babe and its mother! 
There may be sights in memories 

That are precious, sweet to see. 
But this is one that angels love 

To show — at least they do to me. 
And, too, this self-same gentle moon. 

Helps us always to be brave. 
As, thru Memory's tear-stained eyes, we see 

That tiny new-made grave. 

V. 

Yes, dear, the moon is shining still 

On joy, hope, love and sadness. 
And I love her great round smiling face; 

I hail her beams with gladness. 
I love her first faint little ray 

Which, like childhood, fast it grows, 
Develops, and in due time 

Perfected form and grace it shows. 
Then one brief day, perfection reached. 

Like life she fades, and naught can make her 
Do aught, except as she snould do. 

Obedient be, unto her Maker. 



VI. 

Yes, I love my dear old moon. 

Old friend in joy or sorrow; 
In all my moods she meets with me. 

Did yesterday, and will tomorrow. 
Friends are so few that come and stay, 

That 'never chide or scold us. 
That, by their light in darkest hours 

And, by smiling faces, hold us. 
So .ioin me, dear, and let us sing 

A song of joy and praise together 
For the dear old Moon that's been our friend 

In every place and Kind of weatner. 

VII. 

I love my Moon, my dear old Moon, 
I love her anywhere or plac-; 
In any land or clime or sea 

It's the same old nappy smiling lace. 
The children dearly love her, 

And the old folks love her, too; 
And lovers always love her 

As lovers true should do; 
For she is kind and gentle 

Her bright and cueery smile 
Shines, and helps us realize 

The Really, lifes worth while. 



Quite a long time ago there lived a boy in a coun- 
try more than a thousand miles East of the Great 
Rocky Mountains, where winter is REAL WINTER 
indeed, with lots of snow and ice and cold. 

Bye and bye he grew to be a man and moved to 
a country w^here there was no real winter, but where 
the grass, and flowers and oranges grow out of doors 
all winter long. It was Christmas time and as he 
had been chosen superintendent of a Sunday School 
in that country of sunshine, he wanted to tell the 
little boys and girls, and some of the larger ones 
as well, something of the long winters and how he 
used to spend them, in order that they would bet- 
ter understand why Santa Claus always had his pic- 
ture taken in furs and snow and with his sleigh; 
so he told a short story, and read them a few of 
his "Winter Reveries" i.e. rememberences of winter, 
in rhyme as follows: 

You dear reader may, like the writer, have been 
reared in a country where winter was a stern 
reality, if so you can appreciate these lines more 
fully than one who has not actually experienced 
winter. 

Winter! cold, icy winter is here! 

The blast from the north, sharp, severe. 

Tells in a voice of no gentle tone. 

That a visitor is here from a polar zone. 

He has stripped the foliage from plant and tree, 

Banished the bird and stilled the bee. 

Has covered the brook with a silvery sheen, 

So its merry ripples can not be seen. 

13 



Has spread a white mantle over the grass. 
Making red cheeks for school-boy and lass. 
Bringing joy to some, while to others pain; 
But, after the winter, spring comes again. 

Winter! chill snov/-clad winter is here! 

To the hungry and cold it is, indeed, drear. 

For, what can be the cold winter charm 

To those who lack clothing to keep them warm? 

To those who have neither snelter nor bed; 

To those who suffer for fire and bread; 

To those who have babes, to them, precious and 

sweet. 
Crying from cold, or for something to eat. 
What charm hath winter to poor folk like these. 
As the wind drifts tne snow, or howls through the 

trees? 
Finds its way in tnrough loose windows and door. 
Winter! bleak winter, seems not for the poor. 

The shouts of the sleighers, merry and clear. 
Tell us, as they peal out on the frosty air, 
That winter is here! And the sleigh bell's chime 
To the clattering hoofs, keep cheerful time. 
And the runners squeak, as away they go. 
Bearing light hearts o'er the sparkling snow. 
Winter hath charms for the well and strong; 
With plenty to eat and wear, 'tis a song 
The wind plays for them on Jack rrost's lyre, 
As they ride in furs, or, by a cozy fire 
Sit and muse wuile the coals glow red; 
Or, they dream of summer in their downy bed. 

As thus we sit musing o'er many sucn things. 
Our thoughts ofttimes take up memories wings. 
And soar away, 'way bacK into the past, — 



Over the years that have flown so fast 
To when, from the window, in great surprise, 
We beheld the first snow, with our baby eyes. 
We recall not the month, perhaps 'twas November. — 
But 'twas the first fall of snow, that we can remem- 
ber. 
How we clapped our soft hands in cnildish glee! 
And called to our Mamma to come and see; 
And we hear her say: "Dear, don't you know 
These falling stars are uakes of snow?" 

The years roll on thus, and, one by one. 

Each winter marks a year has gone; 

But as they come and as they go, 

\ve recall pleasant thoughts of each winter's snow. 

Our warm yarn mitts, and boot-tops red; 

Our flashy colore'', priceless sled; 

Short rides, at first we had to take. 

But soon we followed in the wake 

Of older boys; and our courage grew 

Until, down steep hills we almost flew; 

With feet most froze, cheeks all aglow. 

What fun we had with sled and snow! 

Then, when evening shades would ictil; 

The cows and horses in their stall 

Had all been fed; and, in the fold 

The sheep were sheltered from the cold. 

The noisy pigs, their sty within 

Were keeping up their usual din; 

The watch-dog now was at his post. 

Fearing neither dark nor ghost; 

In day time full of romp and play. 

At night, the prowlers kept away; 

The cold, he did not seem to mind; 

15 



And a faithful friend, in him we find. 

Those evening meals our mothers spread; 
For, growing chnaren must be fed; 
Then we'd gather 'round the grate 
Our days' experience to relate 
Of what we'd seen, or learned, or done. 
Sometimes of work, oft times of fun; 
And Grandpa, with his ready store 
Of wonderous tales from days of yore, 
Would entertain us by the hour, — 
For Grandpa's tales had magic power 
To amuse, instruct and charm a boy 
And, fill a girlish heart with joy. 

And grandma, too, in, her easy chair 

With her large bowed spec's, her snowy hair 

Half hidden 'neath a dainty cap. 

Would rouse up, from a nodding nap 

To tell us stories, not a few, 

Adentures, — all of which were true; 

How those pretty farms were made 

From praries wild, or forest shade; 

How cities, mixed with bad and good. 

Sprang up, where once a cabin stood; 

And, how the railroad of the age 

Had taken place of ox and stage. 

Then, how her knitting needles flew! 
As, round by round, that stocking grew; 
Or else a warm and shapely mitt. 
Perfect, in its form and fit. 
Grew, stitch by stitcn, as sne nodded, dozed, — 
And knit away with eyes half closed. 
Then, by the fire-light's mellow glow. 
Queer shadows with our hands, we'd throw 

16 



Upon the wall; or, carry tabby to the dark 
And rub her back, to see it spark; 
Or hold the skein of Grannie's yarns. 
Or wind the ball, to rest our arms. 

Now we'd romp in childish mirth. 
Or, seated 'round the great stone hearth, 
lie large red apples to a string, 
Aaid watch them near the fire swing. 
And turn, and fiz, and whirl, and sing 
Until, when done, they'd tempt a king. 
Chestnuts, baked in smoking embers. 
Is another thing one long remembers. 
Then, home-made cider, fresh and sweet, 
^vould help digest what we had eat. 
Songs were sung, books were read. 
Until 'twas time to go to bed. 

Those winter mornings, sharp and cold. 
The tracks all 'round, of Jack Frost, bold; 
The snow in drifts, so soit and light. 
Piled up high, small mountains white; 
The horses, neighing in their stall; 
The cattle, from their stanchion call. 
The pigs now in their pens were squealing, 
All for their morning meal appealing: 
So, we bundled up, and out we'd go 
To cut our way through drifts of snow. 

And thus the days went flitting by 
Until the yule time had drawn nigh; 
The old church bell, in merry chime. 
Heralds again, the Christmas time. 
"Old Santa Claus," of our childish dreams, 
His big high loads and reindeer teams; 
His great fur coat to keep him warm, 

17 



So he'd not fear the winter storm; 
His frosty beard, and hair so white. 
Who always traveled in the night. 

Then, as for dear old friendship's sake; 

The New Year followed in his wake. 

Dropping a stone on Time's Highway; 

To mark the end of a year, we say; 

And a page of life, so clean and white. 

Was turned, for keeping the wrong or right. 

The good resolves, we all did make. 

And never, never, meant to break; 

But, somehow, all except a few. 

Were re-resolved, each year anew. 

Thus, back on memories leaves we gaze. 
Where time and fates, hafh marked our ways; 
Hath spurred us on to do our best. 
Or held us back, from lack of zest: 
Our days at school, — the good old master 
Who thought we ougnt to learn much faster: 
The spelling bee we would not miss 
With sweetheart, and, — a stolen kiss — 
Such rivalry, and great conquests. 
Some, fun; some, greatest earnestness. 

Courtship sweet, life's fond young dream; 
Love, was our one absorbing theme: 
And then at last, with cupid's aid. 
We won our cause, — sweet, blushing maid. 
With love, hope, and faith unshaken. 
Our plighted troth, and vows were taken; 
The vows that were to last through life. 
The vows that made us man and wife; 
With new ambitions, joy and pride. 
Consecrated we, our own new fireside. 



The wheel of life has gone once 'round. 

Grandpa and Ma, sleep 'neath the ground; 

New life is born to take the place 

Of those who finish life's great race. 

All things work out to God's own plan, 

The child that was, is now the man; 

And, at our knees, we see the face 

That, in coming years, will take our place; 

And, we may see, as we grow old. 

Our dream of life, in life unfold. 



'^n 06c to t\)(i (Breat "American T>e5erl 

Yes, on and on; gaze east or west; Iook as you will, 

For hours and days you see it still. 

Those miles and miles of cheerless, barren waste 

Remind us of some saddened human lives, 

Who'e never had of happiness one single little taste. 

Waiting, always waiting, until the time arrives 

When God alone, or else inspired man. 

Shall show the way by which this desert can 
Be made to bloom and blossom as the rose. 
How many years 'twill take, no mortal knows. 
But just as sure as God's in Heaven above. 
Just so sure, some day, in mercy and in tender love, 
Will He teach how to grow tne wheat and corn 
To feed, and happy make, the millions yet unborn. 
Oh, Desert drear! So sad, so comfortless and vast, 
Man will thy many secrets learn and then^ them use 
at last. 



When you're tired, worn and weary, 

When the world seems cold and dreary, 
If you then can sing your song, 

You can help the world along. 
If you smile, instead of frown. 

When everything is up-side-down, 
You are really, then, worth while. 

For it takes a man to smile, 
When the hand of fate is leading. 

And, despite your prayers and pleading. 
Drops the flag right in your face. 

As you run in life's great race. 

It takes a man to sing and smile. 

Look up and keep a-trying, while 
Everything seems set against him. 

If you feel yourself a-slipping 
Get a hold and just keep gripping — 

Do not sigh and wonder why; 
You can conquer, if you'll try 

And be happy bye and bye. 
In the thought that you have won 

In the race that you have run; 
There's the way to keep from slipping — 

Get a hold and just keep gripping, 
And keep up the smile and song. 

It's an easy thing for any fellow. 
When all the world is soft and mellow 

To smile when things just come his way — 
Health and good things all seem come to stay, 

All the world looks bright and rosy. 
When fortune snugs you up so cozy. 

But it takes a man to push and trill, 

20 



When it's all the way up hill. 
It's not the same: No, no, my dear; 

It takes grit to push and steer 
Through the dark, on to the goal; 

If he will not admit defeat 
Nor give up, because he's beat, 

Nor spend his time in crying. 
But hope on and keep a-trying; 

If he smiles and does not holler, 
You can bet your bottom dollar. 

He'll keep trying till he'll win. 



"All day the low hung clouds have dropped 

Their garnered fullness down," 
All day we've watched the snow flakes fall. 

Making a white phantom town. 
Until at last in the dusky eve 

Prom work, we nomeward turn 
Where our loved ones wait for us, 

To welcome our nome return. 
And as the twilight deepens 

And the lights begin to glow 
We trudge along toward the ones 

Who's hearts are not chilled by snow. 



21 



SoUUques of **5lln-nln "Gat** 

Written for the Santa Ana Daily Register by W. A. 
Zimmerman, in the hope that "these few lines" may 
cause some thoughtless people to think. 

I wonder where those girls are at, 

That used to say they loved their cat! 

For weeks they've left me all alone, 

As though their hearts were made of stone; 

They never even telephone. 

Nor send me just a little bone. 

'Tis queer how quickly they forget 

(Or seem to me, they do,) their pet; 

And leave me here alone to cry, 

And think of them, and wonder why. 

'Tis true, their Papa still stops here. 

And sometimes has a word of cheer 

For me and "Snowball." (That's my chum) ; 

But I wish those little girls would come. 

For they're most as nice 

As half grown mice. 

There's no one that can take their place; 

It's so far up to their Papa's face; 

When he stoops down to get our cup. 

It's as far away as when they stand up. 

There's no one here to holler "Scat" 
When e'er that big old 'neighbor cat 
Comes over here and looks for me, 
And makes me hide up in the tree. 
If I could hear those girlies say — 
"Scat, old Cat, you go away," 
That would be music sweet, to me. 
And I'd be happy as could be. 
I wonder if they'd scold, or laugh. 
If I'd call them home by telegraph! 

22 



Sometimes their papa gives a look. 

That seems to say, "Yes, you're forsook," 

And then stoops down and strokes my fur. 

And I at once begin to purr. 

That's the only way, you know, 

I can appreciation show 

For the many, many times he's fed 

"Snowball" and me with milk and bread. 

But food's not all — no, one depends 

So much for happiness, upon one's friends. 

So I'll mew, and mew, loud as I can, 

And see if some good-natured man 

Won't send them word, and let them know. 

That I miss my little playmates so. 

And have them write to me, and say — 

"Yes, *Nin-nin,' we'll come right away. 

But I wonder what poor kitties do 

That have no one to see them through. 

While their little playmates go away 

To enjoy a change and holiday! 

So, little friends, who these "mewsings" read. 

Please don't forget to provide the feed 

For your little pets, while you're away. 

Enjoying a happy holiday. 

Yours truly, "Nin-nin Tat." 

(Which interpreted means, Nigger Cat). 



23 



Wl)«n ^ou 3fav<t (Brown Kp 

Come, little girlie, and tell me, 

What all have you done today? 
How have you passed the hours. 

While I've been on duty away? 
Come, tell of your joys and your sorrows. 

Do you miss me as I miss you? 
Come, sit on my knee, and tell me. 

Do you love me, and is your love true? 
Come, whisper it to your dear daddy. 

Your round little lace close to mine. 
And give me a kiss of affection — 

Of love that shall last for all time. 

CHORUS. 
What will I do, little girlie 

What will I do without you? 
When you're grown up I'll miss you! 
Then what will poor daddy do? 

Sure, I will miss the sunshine 
And the music of your sweet song. 
When you have grown up and left me. 

The years will be heavy and long. 

It seems such a very short time — 

But time, we all know, is on wing — 
Since you came to brighten my life. 

Such a tiny and helpless wee thing; 
The clothes you first wore just fit dolly; 

And you — let me see, is it true? — 
You're growing and growing so fast» 

I scarce can believe it is you. 
So, come, then, and whisper it to me. 



24 



While I hold you here on my knee, 
With your little, soft arms around me. 
Tell me truly how much you love me. 
CHORUa 

I know that your warm, little heart 

Has for daddy, a place that will hold 
Love for him, through the changes that come, 

As he, like all else, shall grow old. 
So I ask you to promise me, girlie, 

That no matter how long it may be. 
You always will love and remember 

The daddy, who dearly loves thee; 
And when you are the happy sweetheart. 

Lucky fellow, who e'er he may be. 
You'll remember your lonely, old daddy. 

And the promise that you have made me. 
CHORUS. 



^ 



(Ton^ratulatlons 

We've just received announcement. 

That you are "man and wife." 
Accept the wishes of your friends 

For a long and nappy life: 
And, as you journey on your road. 

May kind fortune to you deal 
A very little of the woe; 

But abundance of the weal. 



25 



O^ere*^ a Elation (Tallin^ 

There's a nation calling workers. 

For men and women, too. 
Who are tried and not found wanting. 

Who are fully tried and true. 
Who will not shirk a duty 

But do with all their might 
What in their light and wisdom 

They believe to be the right. 
There's a nation calling loudly. 

Is calling lest we fall — 
She calls the strong and willing: 

Will you not heed the call? 

There's a nation calling foemen 

To fight in the cause of right, 
And do it on the Christian plan 

Of justice more than might; 
That will help a fallen comrade, — 

Tho one fall causes pain — 
To rise and, with the proffered help. 

Walk and live upright again. 
There's a nation that is pleading — 

Do you not hear tne callr 
She is calling, calling, calling 

For true men one and all. 

'Tis your nation that is calling. 

And the call is clear and plain. 
She needs a great strong army, 

And must not call in vain. 
There's a record in the making 

To be handed down the ages. 
For the records we are writing 

Will be carved on history's pages. 
Let us make the old world better, 

Shut out graft and vice and sin. 
And by honor, trutn and Christian life 

Eternal praises win; 
So that our people and our country, 

Our nation and our race. 
Can make and maintain a record. 

That will win for us, first place. 



26 



{With apologies to Jerome K. Jerome) 

Babies — I know nothing about them? Oh, yes I do! 

I was one myself once, but I rapidly grew 

Out of long clothes, I am happy to say: 

Yet, I learned a little of the babies' way 

Before I disposed of my long white dress, 

"VVnich, to me, was my greatest distress. 

Whenever babies feel indisposed, or unwell. 

The way that they cry, and kick, and yell. 

Turn red in the face and worry Papa, 

And, by holding their breath, frighten Mamma, — 

Is a caution. 

By the way, why do mothers persist in dressing 
Babes in such long clotnes? To keep you from guess- 
ing 
Their true length? Are they of that ashamed, 
Or, is it a cruel fashion custom has named? 
I believe the first baby is yet to be seen. 
Whose clothes aren't long enough for a lass of six- 
teen. 
Perhaps that's all right; I'll not say 'tis not. 
Or my meanness by mothers would ne'er forgot! 
But the baby itself is what I'm to write about. 
So I'll stick to my text and not branch out 
Onto their clothes. 

I find that most all new babies have eyes alike. 

Of a liquid blue, and afraid of the light: 

A smudge of a nose (speaking metaphoric). 

And, most always, an odor of paregoric. 

Then, the most careful observer never can tell. 

By its clothes, whether it is "Johnnie" or "Nell." 

27 



They have a round little head, sparsely mantled with 

hair, 
And two dimpled feet to kick at the air: 
With hands they can't guide — tnough hard they try — 
Nowhere, except to tneir mouth or tneir eye. 
Or, perhaps, your new tie. 

And then, every baby must have its full share 

Of all the diseases to which babies are heir: 

The colic, the phthisic, insomnia and croup: 

They sneeze with a cold, and with whooping-cough 

whoop. 
Scarlet fever, measles, chicken-pox and rash 
At these bits of humanity, make a bold dash; 
That is rough on the baby, and hard on your sleep. 
They are a deal of trouble, and cost lots to keep, 
Yet, without them, a home's not complete. 
With their prattling tongues, and pattering feet. 
And mischief-making hands. 

But babies, with all their errors, and their crimes. 

Their midnight wails in high-keyed chimes; 

Their funny rule they always keep 

To want to cry when you're asleep; 

Or else their needful nap to take 

When you're astir and wide awake: 

Their queer ideas of what is fun. 

They want you to, for the doctor run. 

When the night is dark, and storm winds blow. 

Though they never any mercy show. 

They are useful little treasures. 

Sure, they are not without their use; 
To them, here is my flag of truce. 
Surely not without tneir use, nay, their part 
Is to soothe, and fill an empty heart. 



Not without their use, when at their call. 
Sunbeams of love break through the pall 
That so often clouds the care-worn face, 
Caused by defeats in life's great race; 
No, not without their use, I guess. 
When their tiny baby fingers press 
Wrinkles into smiles. 

Odd little people they! wise as the sage; 
On this, our busy world's great stage, 
Unconscious little comedians are they. 
Supplying the humor, day after day. 
In this all too heavy drama o- life. 
And binding together husband and wife. 
They are rich gifts from our Father above: 
They strengthen the bands of family love; 
Make house a home, as nothing else can, 
These tender twigs of woman and man. 
The parents' pride and joy. 

Tney should strengthen parents love, we know. 
Yet, I've sometimes thought, it seemed as though 
The first dividing wedge, was the tiny hand. 
That severed in twain love's mysterious band. 
The purest of human affection is mother's love; 
Of all things earthly it towers above. 
'Tis the perfecting touch of a woman's life, and, 
Something we coarse-fibered men, can scarce under- 
stand. 
But, dear woman, do not in your desire to be a good 

mother, 
Forget to be a good wife, remember, there is another 
Your husband, to claim a part of your love. 



29 



3usl Jfor ytt^ Sweetheart 

Who says there is no pleasure 
In being a little sentimental? 

To our soul and happiness, 
It can not be detrimental. 

When I behold the stars on high, 

I do with rapture start; 
For, though many miles divide us 

And keep us far apart. 
Our eyes may rest upon that 

Same magnificent view above. 
And our hearts thus be united by 

Earthly ties of love. 

Then give me sentiment enough 

To sweeten up this life. 
And offset the cares and worry 

That with us is ever rife; 
Trying hard to capsize us, but 

Then, it is no use. 
For, when we are bouyed up by love. 

We seldom have the blues. 
So, give me love and sentiment! 

All that is my share. 
For it revives, invigorates, like 

The fresh pure mountain air. 



30 



•*0^ere*s a Stor^. 511^ -friend" 

There's a story^ my friend, taat grows sweet in the 
telling, 

A story well-founded and true. 
It's a story so dear, many true hearts are swelling 

With this story, for me and for you. 

CHORUS. 
The story, the story, the sweetest that ever was told. 
The story, the story, the sweet story that never 
grows old; 
It never grows old in the telling, whether told in a 
life or in song — 
That Christ came and died to redeem us — so pass 
the glad tidings aiong. 

With the Babe in the manger is this story's begin- 
ning, 
So humble, so precious, so lowly. 
Sent by God to this earth to redeem us rrom sinning; 
His name has grown sacred and holy. 
CHORUS. 

To the Christ on the cross our eyes are now turning, 

The cross, so cruel and bare; 
Yet He bore it for us, for His heart, it was yearning 

That we might in His glory share. 
C±iORUS. 

Come and accept this Savior, and his pardon so free; 

Then just pass the sweet story along. 
It will help some poor brother as it has you and me. 

Then sing the glad story in song. 
CHORUS. 

31 



TZVutumn Winds 

The chill autumn winds are now sighing; 

The dead leaves are strewn o'er the lawn. 
We can tell, the way foliage is dying, 

That summer, bright summer is gone. 

Yet autumn itself, is but fleeting. 

And too quickly it passes away; 
Then, winter with snow for its greeting. 

Comes, inviting us all to be gay. 

So do not waste tim3 in fault-finding. 
For the winter, and snow, will soon pass; 

And spring, with bright sunshine is returning, 
With the birds, the flowers and grass. 

Spring, too, like the autumn and winter, 
Must hasten, not loiter or play; 

For nature has only just sent her, 
To prepare for the summer a way. 



32 



Wor6 IpiclvLva 

( To My Sweetheart) 
I wish I could draw you a picture! 
A simple word picture, I mean. 
I would draw you the fairest picture 
That ever your eyes have seen: 
One of earth's fairest flowers, 
A w^oman, "God's master-piece!" 
As pure as the spotless lily, 
A gem in earth's mortal bower. 

If I could I'd draw you a picture! 

The one I so plainly see; 

I am sure you would like the picture. 

For, from flaw, it is wholly free: 

In yon sick-room just draw the curtain 

And behold what before you lies! 

Convalescent, — each day growing stronger, 

A beautiful picture! Yes? Certain. 

Look now, with me on the picture! 

See there, that pale, lovely face; 

Soft blue eyes look out from the picture 

And invite you nearer, apace! 

A wealth of rich auburn tresses lies 

Around that sweet face on the pillow 

Forming a picture so fair. 

You can never forget 'neath the skies. 

See those lips now, in the picture. 

They part with the sweetest smile. 

And we see a blush come on the picture, 

— Her lover has answered tne smile — 

Now on those half-parted lips waits a kiss for me, 

I gladly stoop down and take it, 

For, my sweetheart is the "convalescent," 

And I am the lover, you see? 

33 



Cupl6's ^levenge 



To my bachelor friends who think themselves inde- 
pendent, self-co'ntrollable, love-proof beings, — this 
poem is respectfully dedicated. The reason for its 
existence is to depict to them the erroneousness of 
their much cherished and exalted ideas of being fully 
able to withstand the charm, sweet faces, and smiles 
of the Queens of Creation, 

Time (and my own experiments and experience) 
clearly demonstrate the fact that they are being 
grossly deceived in cherishing such ideas, for, when 
Captain Cupid marshals his forces against you — even 
though they consist of no more than one weak 
woman, who would retreat from a mouse — you stand 
no more show than a pound of ice beneath the rays 
of a tropical July sun. 

However, there is some consolation in such defeat, 
although surrendering, we may march off triumph- 
antly with the prize — a "Captor made Captive." 

THE AUTHOR. 

I want to be a bachelor, 

And with the bachelors stand; 
They are so interesting. 

And such a jolly (band; 
We rise up in the morning. 

Take our breakfast all alone; 
No darling little children 

To help pick our "ham bone." 

I want to be a bachelor. 

It seems to be such fun; 
Nobody else's business 

Only just your own to run. 
Oh, how his face is beaming, 

34 



Whene'er you chance to meet 
This independent creature, 
As he rides' down the street. 

I want to be a bachelor. 

At least while I am young; 
A well-fed, handsome creature, 

And hear my praises sung 
By all old maids, and maidens. 

Who like my style, and gait, — 
And wonder why, on marriage seas, 

I ne'er launched my fate. 

I want to be a bachelor. 

So I can sleep all night; 
The attractions seem so very small. 

To get up and strike a light 
To pour out paregoric 

(And bad oaths) 'till you're blue; 
Then to be told, tne infant 

So much resembles you. 

I want to be a bachelor 

The balance of my life; 
And, if I never fall in love — 

Of course, I'll have no wife. 
Don't laugh at me, nor pity me. 

My heart is made of stone; 
So I feel that I'm quite capable 

To face the world alone. 

I want to be a bachelor — • 
Yes, that's what I am now; 

One week ago tomorrow 
I made my bachelor bow. 

It seems so very novel 



35 



To think I've gone "Scott free," 
And, what is so much better, 
I always am to be, 

I want to be a bachelor, 

And wear a high silk hat; 
If you're a common married man, 

You scarcely can do that. 
Your shiny patent leathers 

Would surely have to go; 
But, instead of shining shoes. 

Your shiny coat would show. 

I want to be a bachelor; 

Yes, that I do declare; 
No angry wife to fly at me 

And pull out all my hair. 
Then, those dainty little feet 

(Always cold as ice). 
Snug up against your warm ones: 

You bet your life that's nice. 

I want to be a bachelor; 

I should not like to "gee and haw; 
And fly around from morn till night 

To please a mother-in-law. 
To be a beast of burden. 

Bring in the coal and water, 
And make myself so useful 

Just to save her daughter. 

I want to be a bachelor, 
So when Vm late at night, 

I can come in and go to rest. 
No wife's tears to fight. 

And, I should fall up stairs 



36 



(Because there is no light), 
I'll not be met in my own door 

With, "Why, Man, I believe you're tigui 

I want to be a bachelor 

And sit upon my throne, 
:Monarch of myself and home. 

To rule them both alone. 
Oh, married life is very nice — 

That is, if you are boss; 
But too many times, I fear. 

We find it "Hoss and Hoss." 

I want to be a bachelor. 

Not that I may live "fast," 
But to enjoy single blessedness 

That, I am "sure, will last. 
But look — my eyes deceive me not! 

See! crossing o'er the street. 
No, that's no empty vision! 

By Jove, but she is neat! 

I want to be a bachelor. 

But that vision makes me start. 
I wonder what that feeling is 

That flutters 'round my heart? 
Hurry — don't lose sight of her! 

Oh, dear, I feel so queer: 
My brain's all in a whirl! 

No, I've not been drinking beer. 

I want to be a bachelor — 

But, oh, that lovely face! 
And such a form I ne re uave seen — 

A fawn has no such grace! 
I am not mad — she smiled on me; 



37 



And, oh, such lovely eyes! 
I feel as though I suddenly 
Dropped into Paradise. 

I want to be a bachelor — 

But that (bewitcning face! 
What's that you say? — No fooling, Tom, 

What! that your sister Grace? 
Oh, Tom, do me one favor, please. 

If you never do another; 
Introduce me to your sister — 

I should like to be your brother. 



I did want to be a bachelor, 

But such whims and I must part; 
For the gay and festive Cupid 

Drove an arrow through my heart. 
Tom kindly introduced me. 
And my praises loud did sing: 
I go there seven times a week. 
And have bought a diamond ring. 

I did want to be a bachelor, 

A thing now of the past; 
For, in love's subtle meshes, 

I'm held secure and fast. 
You make a very great mistake 

If you think single life is bliss. 
If you would have real pleasure, 

Enjoy a sweetheart's kiss. 

I did want to be a bachelor. 

But now I've changed my mind, 
And left such foolish notions 

Far — yes, far behind. 
Forgive me all the cruel things 

I've said of married life; 
For, in just one month from Sunday, 

She, will become my wife. 



38 



Let me sing you a ditty, 

Of my babe, "Sweet," so pretty; 

She is just three years old, 

And, so fair to behold. 

You could not help but love 

The sweet little dove; 

And worship her, too. 

The same as I do. 

She's the sweetest of girls, 

With golden brown curls; 

And her eyes are as iblue 

As the violets so true. 

The dear little Grace 

Is in the right place; 

For she makes our home bright. 

From morn until night. 

When I come home at night. 

To our fireside, so bright. 

Made so by Mamma and "Sweet;" 

Then my dear little Miss, 

Has for Papa a kiss. 

And pussy must take a back seat. 

Do you wonder I love 
This sweet little dove. 
With a face like the fairy's. 
And her lips liKe red cherries? 
She's the dearest of girls, 
With her golden brown girls; 
No pouting and fusses. 
But all smiles and caresses. 



At the close of the day, 
When tired of piay; 
Her evening prayers said, 
And all tucked up in bed; 
Then, the angels I'm sure, 
Will watch over her 
All through the night. 
Until morning light. 

Must I tell you the rest? 

Or have you quite guess'd 

The reasons wny I love her? 

One is, she s the gift of 

Our Father above. 

And the other, 

Well, she's just like her mother. 

He had been going regularly, 

For several Sunday nights; 
And, so he thought his Lady Love 

Was surely his^ by rights: 
And now he plead in passionate tones. 

The best he could command; 
And for further inspiration. 

He gently pressed her iiand, 

"I love you, love you, darling one! 

Yes, better than my life. 
I can not live witiiout you! 

Will you be my wife? 
O! tell me that you love me too. 

Answer with a kiss! 
Then soon I'll make you Mistress, 

Instead of simply. Miss." 

"Do answer quick, my angel, sweet. 



Say you'll be my wife! 
Save me from suicide, say yes. 

And save my life." 
But still the answer did not come, 
No more than as if she slumbered! 
He then began to realize, 

Perhaps his days were numbered. 

She looked at him with dreamy eyes 

He scarce could understand; 
But, somehow he understood enough 

To make him drop her hand! 
She then to him her answer gave, 

(But they did not "touch aioses") 
"When you're dead, I'll send you, George, 

A broken pillar of roses." 



^ 



What is it? Only a blot of ink! 

Caused by what? A blunder. 
Yet it is enough, I think. 

To make the writer say, OH, THUNDER! 
That is, if the writer should be a man, 

And the blot on a fine love letter; 
But, if a lady, — of course, she can 

Control her language oetter. 



41 



Spooks! 

Night! Still and solemn night! 
When nature has hlown out her light; 
And we are left to spooks' revenge, 
'Tis then our flesh will creep and cringe 
At sounds we hear, or seem to hoar; 
Sometimes afar, sometimes quite near. 
Whether fancied, or real sincere, 
'Tis sure to give a feeling queer 
And make us wish, yes wish that we 
Had some one, any one, for company. 

Then come those cruel sounds, so weird, 

We can not help feel "afeard"; 

And start at the sound of a donkey braying, 

Or, from afar, some old hound baying, 

As though it was old Satan praying 

For our bones, and saying. 

Come unto me, ye wicked sinner. 

On the earth you've been a winner; 

But I have got my eve on you, 

And soon will have you in the stew. 

We strain our ears to catch a sound 

That seems to come up from the ground; 

And, then, much to our surprise. 

It seems to come down from the skies; 

Then, do we hear it from behind. 

And turn our eves, only to find 

That all is dark, or we are blind! 

Then again, that sound came from behind, 

Which makes us writhe as though in pain, 

And we think we hear that sound again. 

We hold our breath, and tremble so, — 

42 



We scarcely know which way to go, — 
We think we'll die, — we surely ' will — 
Then everything grows calm, and still; 
If you ne'er have felt, you can not guess 
How such awful stillness does oppress. 
And make you think you will confess 
All your sins, and them redress. 
Then, again, you hear that prayer 
Of Satan, on the midnight air. 

We feel the cold chills down our back, 
And seem, to so much courage lack 
Because 'tis night, yea, awful night! 
And nature's eyes are closed up tight. 
We hear the moan of a gentle breeze. 
As it plays among some stately trees. 
It seems our very blood to freeze. 
Except that part around our knees — ■ 
Which smite each other, as you hear 
Or think you do, old Satan, near. 

We pray for daylight to come quick. 

Before we'er captured by 'Old Nick." 

We now can almost feel the hold 

Of his bony hand, clammy and cold. 

Oh! how we wish we had a gun 

That would shoot a ball, big as the sun; 

We would blow old Satan up, for fun — 

Or make him back to Hades run. 

But hark! Our hair does stand on end. 

As that sound again the air does rend. 

And then we hear some awful groan 
Which seems to come from Satan's throne. 
We seem to hear a muffled tread, 
Coming from the regions red. 



43 



We hear a plain though gentle tap. 

Which sounds just like a spirit's rap. 

We hear a sound like wings "aflap," 

You feel a hand upon your nap; 

You sink right down in dire despair 

As you think its the answer to his prayer. 

Oh! What would you give, if only we 

Were from this spooky" feeling free. 

And would not leel so queer at night. 

When we're alone and nave no light! 

And would not hear strange footsteps tread. 

And direful thoughts pass througn our head; 

And recall all bad things we have said 

Of those alive, and those that's dead; 

And would not hear so very clear, 

What sounds so much like Satan's prayer. 



Oh! how the baby sobbed and cried; 

Oh! how he yelled and hollowed! 
You'd thought uis last friend had just died, 

By the way he howled and bellowed. 

The father came a rushing in. 
And around the house he flew; 

He had the nurse search for a pin, — 
It must be that, he knew. 

The mother sat quite motionless, 
The trying ordeal through. 
At last she said: "Why can't you guess. 
He's just found out he looks like you." 



44 



O^e :6ll55 of a TKlss 

O think of the 'bliss 

That there is in a kiss; 

If you're clever, and calm in its capture; 

If you are only aware 

You should take it with care, 

It will fill your whole soul with rapture. 

Oh! the joy and the bliss 

That there is in a kiss; 

Sweet and fervent, — you long can remember — 

If received from your girl. 

When out for "a, whirl" 

A nice moonlit night in September. 

Some girls are quite slow. 

To their kisses bestow 

On all 'cept their father or mother, — 

But do not feel blue, 

For still there's a few 

Who would rather kiss you than a brother. 

Oh, the rapture! the bliss! 

There is in a kiss. 

If you can give it with finish and neatness; 

'Tis delicious, (all grant it) 

If you but dare plant it 

On her lips, the center of sweetness. 

But don't be a fool. 

And try to follow a rule; 

Some old set rule, until you are gray: 

If success you'd achieve. 

And full bliss you'd receive. 

Just do it the girl's favorite way. 

There are sweet little kisses 

For babies — for misses — 

And your sweetheart, you sometimes 'most smother; 

They are nice, (I'll be fair). 

But none can compare 

With the kiss of the wife or the mother. 

45 



Th Tjoasl 

A toast to the B. C. I. S. S. girls of the Presby- 
terian Sunday School, Santa Ana, California, April 
first, nineteen hundred fourteen, by their teacher 
W. A. Z., at a dinner given by the losers in a class 
contest. 



A race fairly lost might be worse; 
It might be dishonestly won. 
So cheer up, losers. 



Here's to the B. C. I. S. S. Girls, 

To their health and to their work, 
To the career, of the lassies dear. 

And duty they will not shirk; 
May their lives ibe blessed with all that's best, 

And may they all ring true. 
May they help one anotner and stand by each other, 

Each do what they find to do. 
May they find life's load as they tread life's road 

Not too heavy for them to bear. 
May there be no dark night, may their days be 
bright 

And the weather be mostly fair. 
Then raise with me rhe sparkling glass 

Filled with water, pure and clear. 
Which is an emblem of the lives they live. 

Filled with Christ and His good cheer. 

46 



3fow iDo you Oreat ^our Mlol^er? 

Girls, how many of you kiss your mother good 
night and good morning? A loving kiss is a wonder- 
ful antidote for a carefurrowed brow and a tired 
heart. 

All through your life, in joy and in sorrow, that 
loving mother kiss has never failed you, and now it 
is your turn. 

Your mother is the best friend you ever had or 
ever will have. All the world, father, brother, sister, 
husband, child, friends, may desert you, but shining 
steadfast and true, through good report and ill, will 
be the beautiful mother love that has been yours 
ever since you were first placed in her arms — a tiny 
pink-faced baby. 

What are you giving in return for all these years 
of self-sacrifice and devotion? 

Are you lifting the burdens from her weary 
stooped shoulders and placing your strong youth at 
her service? Are you giving her a treat sometimes 
by taking her to some place of amusement or 'bring- 
ing her some pretty little adornment tnat she would 
never think of buying for herself? Remember that 
she is still a woman, even if she is old and wrinkled, 
and that she will love pretty things till she dies. 

Tell her your secrets and jokes. She will keep 
the former and enjoy the latter. Make her sit down 
while you do the work that she has always done. 

You owe all this to her; it is a debt of honor that 
will take all the years she is spared you for you to 
repay. 

Some day those loving, patient eyes will close 
forever, and the dear, toil-hardened hands will be 
quietly folded and then with a passion of regret you 
will realize tnat you never did half enougu tor her. 

Do it now and save yourself this suffering. — Se- 
lected. 

47 



(Tontrast 

A GOOD woman, is the lovliest flower 

That blooms 'neath the heaven above! 
She cheers up man, in his darkest hour, 

And sweetens his life with her precious love: 
She urges him on to his greatest power; 

For, what will man not do for woman's love? 
Whether she live in house, castle or cot. 

Her sweet, pure influence is never forgot. 

But when a woman to frivolity is given, 

And by its current, so sweeping and strong, 
From the port of pure love and virtue is driven. 

And in broad sinful seas she flounders along, 
With her allegiance to God widely assunder riven, — 

Is hse then not a powerful stimulus to wrong. 
Dragging men down into the lowest depths. 

Fulfilling, to a letter, "His Satanic" precepts? 

Young women! YOU are the architects! Build, then, 
as you will. 

Your character in the mire, or on purities hill; 
Draft well your plans, — each part to fit, — 

And make this world better for having lived in it. 
For the women do, we scarce need be told, 

The key to Life's greatest problems hold; 
Then, whether your station be lowly or high. 

To fill it with honor, you ever should try. 



After a careful perusal 
Of your gentle refusal, 
I hasten to metion 
It is not my intention 
To give you a second chance 
To hurl such a lance 
At my honest heart; 
Therefore, we must part — 
Forever! 

You are, perhaps (?) quite sincere, 
But your actions so queer; 
I'm sure you don't love 
Me all others above. 
The truth it must be, 
(Or it looks so to me) 
It's a fact, my young elf. 
You're in love with yourself — 
Forever! 

But, after long years of loving. 
Of "honeying" and "doving," 
We will not spoil the moral 
And end in a quarrel. 
But simply say "quits," 
As I don't like "misfits;" 
For your life and mine, 
I see will not rhyme — 

Forever! 

I'm a poor man, you see. 
With a heart all for thee; 
But it makes some hearts cold 
To compare love with gold; 



And its bright yellow hue 
Has great attractions lor you: 
So, without malice or strile, 
I don't want such a wife — 
Forever! 

So a bachelor I'll be. 

With some sad thoughts 

Not whining nor repining. 

But in my large chair reclining; 

No children to cry. 

No beefsteak to buy; 

Simply live easy and enjoy life: 

For I'll have 'no wife — 

Forever! 

You are free now, behold! 
So go marry for gold; 
It may happiness give 
As long as you live; 
For some die young, I am told. 
Who marry for gold. 
You've no risK to take — 
Only your happiness at stake — 
Forever! 

Such a courtsnip was ours — 
Naught but pleasure and flowers! 
From the other, not one harsh word 
Have our ears ever heard; 
Only love and caresses. 
And lots of sweet Kisses. 
All — all, now is past: 
Such sweet love could not last — 
Forever'. 



50 



Still, life is worth living. 
If for naught but forgiving. 
So, contented I'll be, 
With no maiice for thee; 
But live on — not blind, — 
And some day luAY find 
A sweet little wife. 
To be the joy of my ii£e — 
Forever ! 

One who will love me for what I am worth, 
And think me the dearest of men upon earth. 
To just such a wife 
I could devote my whole life — 
'Though of my poor heart 
You have a large part. 
But I'll have to forget 
You, and be happy yet — 
Forever ! 

So good-bye, my old love 
'Till I meet you above. 
May your life here on earth 
Be full of joy and mirth; 
And I hope that you can 
Find your ideal (moneyed) man. 
But, if ever in need of a true friend you be. 
Be not afraid to call upon me — 
Forever! 



(boob 5tews 

I've just received a telegram! 

Can you guess the news? 
It's from my wife, — to read it 

Drives away the blues; 
She's coming home tomorrow. 

And' I tell you I am glad; 
She's been away two months. 
And what a lonesome time I've nad. 

She's been to spend the summer 

With friends in Eastern States; 
And I've looked at the calendar 

'Till I've worn off all the dates. 
The days seemed to be standing still, 

Each one seemed a year. 
Life is not worth living, 

Without my wifie dear. 

I'll not attempt to tell you 

All the trouble I have had; 
Between keeping house and iboarding, 

It's enough to drive one mad. 
You don't care to visit friends 

Who are enjoying life; 
For each such visit only serves 

To remind me of my wife. 

The club seems hollow mockery, 

I guess it's lost its power; 
There is nothing there to please 

Or amuse you for an hour. 
But she's coming home tomorrow! 

Oh, how happy I shall be 
When the time of meeting has 



52 



Arrived, and she's at home with me! 

As I read that message o er and o'er, 

I can whistle, dance and sing; 
And I feel almost as good as when 

I bought our wedding ring. 
Talk about your having lun 

When your wife's away! 
I'd ratner have her aome a year 

Than be alone a day. 



^ 



X3be TClttle I5bl(if. i>ait (Cupid 

There is a little highwayman. 
And still he plays his game; 

A bold and daring thief they say, 
Dan Cupid is his name. 

Some how, in the dear dead past. 
That fast retreating day 
The little robber came to me. 
And stole my heart away. 

I care not now, nor worry. 
O'er such a loss as this; 
For the little thief, in doing so. 
Brought me a gift of bliss. 

For in his mad-cap plunder. 

In some mysterious way. 
He left it with a sweetheart true. 

Who holds it, to this day. 



53 



!&lue '^^ds, daasQ. ^our IJeeplag 

There's a girlie that's true. 

And Her eyes are as blue 

As the azure that's up in the sky. 

She is happy and gay, 

And she's always that way. 

When you see her you'll never ask why. 

She is Nature's own fairy. 

And her glances, they carry 

Just like a Cupid's love dart. 

When she aims at a fellow. 

She can make him quite mellow, 

For she shoots straight through the heart. 

CHORUS. 
So, please, dear girl. 
Let your blue eyes go sleeping. 
And rest from their peeping. 
Let them close, and stop teasing me. 
Let them sleep in their nest. 
And forget all the rest. 
And just dream, sweetheart, of me. 

Now, this dear little sweetheart. 
She can draw you by such art, 
You scarcely feel you are slipping. 
If a kiss you could steal 
You'd be happy, and feel 
Love's nectar cup truly you're sipping. 
I would take a long chance 
For a word or a glance. 
And be willing to call it my fate. 
If she could only just guess. 
And would answer me, "Yes," 
I want her to be my own mate. 
CHORUa 

54 



She has such a sweet smile, 

That it's really worth while, 

Her favors to merit and seek, 

Her teeth's pearly rows 

She so artiully shows, 

And a dimple on either soft cheek. 

So, dear sweetheart, don't scold, 

If I've grown very bold. 

If I offer myself and my heart, 

F'or your wireless call 

Has got me, that's all. 

And Cupid has loosened his dart. 

CHORUS. 
So, please, dear girl. 
Let your blue eyes keep peeping. 
For my heart has ceased sleeping. 
It's throbbing, my dearest, for thee. 
I love you the best. 
So forget all the rest. 
And just dream, sweetheart, of me. 



55 



(T^oose your !&cacott TCls^l 

As you're sailing o'er life's ocean 

Are the billows tossing high? 
Is the light of Heaven dimming. 

Have the clouds o'ercast your sky? 
Are you erring, are you fearing 

That your boat will meet with loss? 
Take advice from the Great Mariner, 

Steer directly to the Cross! 

CHORUS 
Fear not the storms, nor angry billows foaming. 
Steer to the Cross and cease your chartless roaming. 
You need no other compass, you cannot suffer loss. 
If you will heed the warning, and be guided by the 
Cross. 

You can waste your time and chances 

Of reaching port that's safe to land: 
If you pick the erring beacon light. 

You'll be beached upon tiie sand. 
There'll be sorrow on the morrow. 

For you then will know your loss — 
Heed the warning of your Saviour 

Let your beacon be the Cross! 
CHORUS 

It's the light that leads to glory, 

It will bring you safely home, 
Matters not what tongue you speak 

Nor what land or sea you roam. 
Keep on trying, colors flying. 

And you then will surely gain 
Entrance to that harbor safe. 

Where the Prince of Peace doth reign. 
CHORUS 

56 



The harbor calm is waiting us, 
We have but to enter in 
And anchor in its waters. 

Free from vice and stain of sin. 
You should take it nor forsake it — 

This precious Cross — before you've passed 
The entrance to that harbor. 

That takes you safely home at last. 
CHORUS 



^ 



T5h<2^ :&ame (Tall 

There's a foe; Oh, Christian soldiers. 
That should make us rise and think 

It's the serpent of intemperance 
It's the awful curse of drink. 

Arouse, ye Christian soldiers. 
With all your might and main. 

Fight on,' Oh, Christian soldiers, 
May you not fight in vain. 

This awful foe, that brings but woe. 
Must vanish from our sight. 

Fight on, Oh, Christian soldiers. 
Fight on with all your might. 

Fight on and do your duty — 
Let your valor never wane. 

Fight on. Oh, Christian soldiers. 
Till this monster you have slain. 



57 



jFiillcltaUoit 

(To Clarence and Velda June 28, 1912) 

Congratulations — yes, my friends, an hundredfold; 

And good wishes, all our hearts can hold. 

So take your marriage vows in sweet affection; 

Just remember that it does not pay 

To spend one's life in finding fault. 
Or searching for the other's imperfection. 
We're only human; so if happy live. 
Have patience plenty, love and lorgive. 

The reward is yours for reaping. 

If after many years of married life, 
You are smiling still, as man and wife, 
And in each other's company and love. 

You would rather spend your time 

Than with any other person 
Under the stars above; 
It's a pretty good, safe guess, 
That you'll be happy, yes — 

Even though you're married. 



58 



O^e 'iSVutumit yiain JS>Tops 

{In California) 

The autumn rain has come a dropping 
And 'twill start the grass agrowing 
In the valleys, on the plains and hills, 
Yes, all Nature seems to smile 
And says "Wait a little while 
See the tender germination. 
And the splendid transformation 
Just watch the new life budding. 
And putting on the frills. 

The great live oaKs seem greener 

All the woodland shrubs are cleaner ' 

In the valleys, on the plains and hills. 

The mistletoe so soft and clinging. 

In her rich green, gently swinging 

From branches of the rugged sycamore. 

And then another thing we all adore 

Is the bright red holly berries 

Which our hearts with joy of Christmas fills 

When harvest's in, and it don't matter. 

Then I love to hear the rain drops patter 

As I lie in bed and think 

How glad nature is to drink 

At this fountain, aye forsooth. 

Fountain of renewing youth. 

And we know this is the why, 

A rich harvest bye and oye. 

Will pay those who plow and sow 

For we all of California know 

What it means to hear 

The Autumn rain drops fall. 



59 



lEp^rlam's "possum Supper 

Old Ephriam Snow was a good old man, 

A pious old man. If you please. 
He lived down South after slavery days. 

By the sweet magnolia trees. 
He lived all alone in his little hut, 

Where the balmy South winds blow. 
For his wife and cuildren had been sold 

Into slavery long ago. 
He worked all day, and he prayed each night; 

His prayers were long, 'tis true, 
And you had to sit and sit and sit 

While he asked the blessin' througn. 
For his faith was deep that the Lord would keep 

Under His protecting wing 
All good folks, whether white or black. 

If they'd only pray and sing. 

The autumn winds were sighing now. 

The leaves began to fall. 
The Indian summer days were passed. 

And old Ephriam felt the call 
Of the inner man, for that morsel sweet 

To the colored man that time of year. 
Some juicy possum meat. 

He knew the possum now was fit 
To make a dainty dish. 

Just baked with sweet taters 
And such, was sure a tempting wish. 

But to get that precious possum 
Was sure a task not light; 

'Twould take old Ephriam and his ixsj^^n^ 
To the woods at night. 

So after his day's work was done 
At the close of day. 



He and the old, faithful hound 
Started for their cherished prey. 

The stars in heaven were twinkling, 

The old moon brightly shone, 
When Ephriam and his old hound dog 

Started out alone; 
But after hours of tramping 

And watching here and there. 
Look as they might, they could not find 

A possum anywhere. 
So, as tne hour was growing late. 

And no possum tracks in sight. 
They started home, resolved to try 

Again tomorrow night; 
So fatigued and disappointed some, 

They reached the cabin door, 
Witu mind made up, tomorrow night 

To try their luck some more. 

The next night, fortune smiled on him 

As you'd expect to see, 
For Towser smelled a possum 

Up an old gum tree. 
Joy knew no bounds; his ivories gleamed, 

And Towser loud did bay. 
And Ephriam, he gave thanks to Him 

(Without much time to pray) 
For the possum was away inside 

Of that old hollow gum, 
And how to get him out of it 

Might worry white folks some. 
But not so this old colored man; 

He had been there before, 
He knew just how to fix it 

To get that possum sure. 

61 



He cut a brush a few feet long, 

And deftly split the end. 
And then he pushed it in the log, 

And quickly did he send 
It up to meet the possum, 

And did twist it in his wool. 
And when he got a good strong hold. 

He just began to pull, 
And out came Mr. Possum, 

And quick as can be said, 
A fat, young, juicy possum 

At Ephriam's feet lay dead. 
That he was a happy colored man 

You can have no fear. 
And the story of his going home 

Need not be related here. 

The possum he was drawn and hung 

Up by the legs so fine. 
Until the next night, when Eph 

Could have the time. 
Which, by the way, was Hallowe'en, 

And this would come just right 
To help old Eph enjoy himself 

On this peculiar feelin' night. 
He didn't want no company much. 

Just thought that he alone 
Could eat all that possum meat 

Off of every single bone. 
And then he thought of Towser; 

He would sure play fair; 
The bones, and what he'd chance to leave 

Would be old Towser's share. 

All day he whistled and he sang 
And seemed in spirits light, 

62 



For well he pictured in his mind 

The feast in store for night. 
So early in the evening. 

The fire was in the grate, 
And the possum was a-baking 

Before 'twas very late. 
The sweet taters and the other things 

That in his mind had run. 
Were timed so to be ready 

'Bout the time the possum's done. 

At last, 'twas all in readiness 

And put upon the table, 
And Eph sat down to enjoy it 

As much as he was able. 
For he was somewhat tired, 

And sorry, a little bit at least 
That he had asked nobody 

To help enjoy his feast. 
So he would ask his Master 

To forgive his selfish sin. 
For neglecting as he had done 

To invite a neighbor in. 
Besides, the dear Lord Knew full well 

The possum was quite small. 
And he alone (with Towser's help). 

Would surely need it all. 

He placed his elbow on the board, 

And then he rests his chin 
Upon one hand, with the other one 

He shades his eyes. 
And then he just began 

To say his grace, which was 
A bit longer than he knew. 

He closed his eyes quite reverently 

63 



And forgot that he was through, 

And as he ended up with 
"I pray Thee, Lord, to keep — to keep, 

He in that restful attitude 
Just dozed off to sleep. 

As he dozed and rested there. 

As queer as it may seem. 
His mind went off to the happy land 

In a most delightful dream. 
He saw old Peter at the gate. 

As happy as could be; 
He saw old Liza and the piccanins 

All singing there and free; 
He saw the happy angel band 

Playing music sweet; 
He saw the great white throne 

And the golden street. 

He saw the great white judgment throne 

And all its beauteous realm; 
He saw the pearly ship of faith, 

With the Master at the helm; 
And as he looked around amazed, 

He saw a great arm-chair. 
And o'er one post hung a starry crown. 

And his own name written there; 
And joy! Oh joy! To his surprise. 

Right in this vision fair 
Were possums, possums, great and small 

Possums everywhere. 

Yes, there were possums great and small. 
And some were gray and old; 

Some were sleek and rounded out 
Much as their hides would hold; 



64 



But all seemed happy and content, 

And seemed to have no tear — 
Just walked around and winked at him 

Whenever he came near. 
They seemed to be as mucn at home 

As any angel there. 
And one old rascal just got up 

And sat down in his chair. 

iVow, while Ephriam slept and dreamed, 

As here in just set out, 
There was something human and quite real 

A-happening thereabout. 
For darkies, just like white folks. 

Get mighty curious, too. 
On Hallowe'en, and snoop around 

To see what they can do. 
To play a joke, or cut a prank 

Or steal (in fun), or raise the deuce 
Or carry off, or cnange around 

Anything that they find loose. 

Two young "coons" out nosin' around 

On this particular night, 
To see what they could find or do, 

Were attracted by Eph's light, 
So just sneaked up and looked around. 

They almost died at the surprise 
As they beheld the tempting sight 

That therein met their eyes. 
For right before them was possum. 

Just sufferin' for the eatin,' 
And Eph sat there, as big as life. 

Apparently a-sleepin.' 

They made a little tiny noise, 
65 



Just to test his hearer, 
And when he didn't move nor stir. 

They came a little nearer. 
They raised the latch, and swung the door 

Until it opened wide. 
And then they bold and bolder grew. 

And ventured on inside. 
And still old Ephriam slumbered on. 

And smiled, as in his dreaming 
He saw the New Jerusalem, 

With its many possums teeming. 

Still nearer came the colored pair, 

^Vho now began to feel 
It would be no sin at all 

To that possum supper steal. 
So they gathered up the possum 

And all the trimmings, too. 
And retired to the outside. 

As most any one would do. 
And there they tore that possum 

Complete from limb to limb. 
So, about as quick, as I tell you, 

There was nothin' leit of him. 

Still, old Ephriam did not wake, 
But his feast w^as gone for good, 
And the feasters thought to play more joke 

And fool Ephriam if they could. 
So they slipped the platter with the bones. 

Right back into its place, 
And with some grease and gravy 

They thought to smear Eph's face. 
So gently did they work around 

His chin, his cheeks, his lips; 



66 



They smeared his shirt-front and his hands, 
And then his finger-tips. 

Now the rogues were satisfied 

Their joke was played quite through, 
So they put on the final touch, 

And quietly withdrew. 
And Ephriam woke, and his surprise 

Could not well be told. 
For he could not believe his sight 

For what he did behold. 
He rubbed his eyes and stirred again. 

And 'lowed he never owns 
How that possum ran away 

And left that pile of bones. 

The evidence was everywhere. 

His hands, .his lips, his face; 
Circumstantial evidence was sure 

All around the place. 
Yet he someaow, could not understand. 

And his mind was not quite clear. 
He could not believe his eyes or mouth; 

Yet everything was there. 
The situation would not clear; 

In fact, it just plum beat him. 
At last, he gave it up, and said, 

"I surely must have eat him." 

So he ambled up and cleared the place, 

Amid evil thoughts and grievin's, 
And picked what little meat there was. 

And gave old Tows the leavin's. 
At last, he thought somehow, 

Which kind o' soothed his cares. 
Mayhap he had entertained the angels 

There somehow unawares. 
And it is a legend to this day 

In that country there 
How Eph Snow had entertained 

The angels unaware. 

r>T 



Ill 

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